A Series of Unlikely Events
by soulful-sin
Summary: Crocker's really in for it now.  He has one last chance to keep his job a date with Geraldine Waxelplax. Will he make it?
1. A Day in the Life

Author's Note: This idea was given to me by a review of my other present tense fanfic, "Foolish Thoughts", Klutzy Girl. So, blame her if it's not good. Just kidding.

If you wish to review my story and not comment upon my preferences, please do so. If you are doing by means of revenge or to rant against me, don't waste your time. At this point, you will be at the receiving end of a scathing review delivered in most loathsome tones. Please do not assume because of my style of choice in this story that my intellect is sub par due to the story's simplicity. Were I to write in more complex terms, this story would not nearly be as enjoyable.

Disclaimer: Guess what? I don't own Fairly Oddparents!

Guess what? I never will!

Chapter One: A Day in the Life

It's ten o'clock on a Tuesday morning. The children are utterly silent, not because they are paying complete attention to the teacher, of course not. Like the children, even nature ceases. A gigantic pit bull stares down Timmy Turner's fifth grade class.

_Don't make eye contact_. _Don't make eye contact_, Timmy Turner thinks fearfully, this silly pink hatted child shaking with fear.

As if it were possible, this pit-bull, a grey dog with a black chain around his neck has been trained to hunt fairies. It does nothing of the sort, but Crocker could remain deluded for a few more minutes. Walnut (its name), was abandoned because he was overly affectionate. In fact, his owner went down as the first person to be licked to death (56 straight hours of licking). Walnut knows nothing of fairies, but he would like to slobber that kid with the smiley face backpack.

"Go!" Crocker yells, laughing maniacally. "Hunt those fairy godparents!" He smacks his head against the chalkboard.

Walnut does "go", and proceeds to lick Timmy with extreme prejudice. Timmy, however, is saved by both luck and the lunch bell. Walnut is stupid but has a wicked sense of smell, and darts toward that wonderful smell of dog kibble, today's lunch. Thus, the day, or rather, Timmy Turner is saved, thanks to food that will ensure 100 absenteeism.

With the disappearance of the students, Crocker's eye on Turner, there is a much less welcome surprise. Principal Waxelplax stands in the doorway, impeding Crocker's progress. Her eyes are narrowed and she emanates anger as she crosses the room to throw one hundred papers on his desk. Needless to say, she is not pleased.

"These are complaints from every single parent/guardian (except Timmy's, who never believe him, anyway) on your "teaching". I should have never signed you out of that asylum; you're as insane as you've ever been. What am I waiting for, a pit bull?"

Her eyes stray to the dog, sitting with its tail wagging in the middle of the aisle. Its black eyes gaze into hers, and she jumps.

"What ever possesses me to keep you? I don't even know why I hired you in the first place. You frighten all the children and most of your classes revolve around fairy hunting! You're incompetent, you're-"she breaks off when she realizes that Crocker has fled the room.

_Why _did_ I hire him? Could it be pity? I used to love him_, she thinks as she leaves the room.

_Do I still?_

He hates cafeteria duty. The mindless chatter of children, none of whom are miserable enough to have fairies, drive him mad (madder than he is, anyway). Their talk is insipid, discussing things which have no real significance, and he wants to just stalk Turner. But he can't- he must have a reason to trail Turner, and Waxelplax is also walking around, her eye on him.

So, he sits, amid annoying, insensitive jokes on his insanity, and glares at the wall. If a fight breaks out, then he has something to do, otherwise, he must suffer. The other teachers are now making hand gestures in his direction, followed by laughter. He hates it, he hates this school.

There is no other way to watch children, legally, unless you teach at an elementary school. Where there are children, there are fairy godparents, and where there are fairy godparents, Crocker will go.

So what if he's doing questionable activities? So what if there are complaints? He's not concerned. All he wants is to have ten minutes alone with Timmy's parents, the ones with the pink and green hair, and then, they'll see. They'll pay.

When he's the absolute ruler of the world...

"Crocker!" Geraldine screeches; jerking him out of his daydream, which involved a substantial amount of shrimp puffs.

"Where were you when Francis threw Turner into the wall and the bullies started a kid fight? Don't tell me you were thinking of fairies again!"

"Uh, no I wasn't?" Crocker makes a forced smile and tries not to look into her eyes. He knows she didn't like the pit bull and the way he's run his classes, and this could be the final straw. Unfortunately, he also knows that he needs this money to fund the technology to hunt fairies, and so can't lose this low paying, no respect job. So, when in doubt, deny, deny, deny.

"I don't care what you do," a third grader flies past their heads, fearfully screaming, "in your own house, but here-", a kindergartener is chucked across the room, "you have to do your job!" _Although, now, I'm not sure I know what that is anymore._

"Enough!" Crocker announces, and stands atop a lunch table. "An 'A' for the first person who stops throwing children!" He grins expectantly.

This backfires in a huge way. Instead of stopping, a whole ton of kids knock him off the table, piling on top of him. He lies, battered and bruised, on the floor (but no more so than the kids used as missiles).

"My office! Now!" Geraldine growls, picking kids off of him. "We need to talk!"

This, as you may know, is never good.


	2. Tomorrow Never Knows

Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. (Glomps)

This story is a great deal more light-hearted than The Other Saga and there won't be any controversial stuff in here. Just me writing FOP perhaps the way it was meant to be, with no angst in sight.

By the way, notice the chapter titles? If you don't, it should become more apparent in the next few chapters. (Grins) It's a shame my favorite song can't be a title.

Chapter Two: Tomorrow Never Knows

Crocker walks like a dog with his tail between his legs and the children watch him, cheering loudly. Timmy and his friends have made it a point to start up a song eerily like "Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead". Needless to say, even with the various injuries, this has made their year.

Now, they commence with the cheers again, "Two, four, six, eight! Who's the teacher we all hate? Crocker, boo, Crocker!"

Crocker groans. The popular kids have even changed the music to "Nowhere Man" and everyone has stormed the tables. There is no longer any supervision whatsoever and they're using it to their advantage. A crash shakes the school since someone has knocked over a table.

Amazingly, Principal Waxelplax hears none of this. She's concentrating on one thing only, how to fire a teacher with tenure. Crocker had accrued tenure, which meant he had taught there for more than three years and could not be fired without just cause. She could not fire him herself, either, the superintendent had to observe his teaching and find enough fault there.

They stop in front of her office, where some miscreant, probably Francis, has scrawled an unreadable slander. She sighs and they step inside, where the sound from the cafÃ¨ dies away. The office is immaculate, as Principal Waxelplax is obsessed with cleanliness.

Crocker has realized, in the absence of sound, these moments seem more final, more concrete. He desperately needs something to lighten the mood, anything will do. Even if it's something stupid, he won't be fired today. Maybe something about....

"Fairy godparents!" Crocker shouts and Waxelplax winces. _Of all the absurd things for him to be raving about, it has to be his absolute favorite, fairies. He's only making this worse on himself._

"Zip it, Crocker," she snaps and motions for him to take a seat. She removes some papers from her desk drawer and poises her finger above the black telephone, beside the white desktop computer, on her wooden desk. For the moment, she's willing to give Crocker a second chance, but that chance is teetering on the edge of existence. One comment about fairies and he's out.

"I'm willing to give you another chance," she informs him, her fingers drumming on the desk. "I know you can do better than this and-"

"What if I take you out a date?" Crocker blurts out; not even realizing what he's said until it's out. "If it goes well, you won't fire me?"

"And, if it doesn't?" Her voice rises.

"Then..."

"Then you're out, Crocker. Back in the asylum where you belong and I hire someone else, someone who's not fairy obsessed. Do we have a deal?"

Crocker, who's rather desperate in both areas, since no one really wants to date an insane freak, quickly agrees. "I'll pick you up at eight?"

_What am I thinking? _Am _I thinking? This is insane! Crocker's going to talk about fairies for the whole date and probably get us arrested for stalking a kid._

Aloud, she says, "One word about fairies and you can consider the date over! Got it?"

Crocker hangs his head. What else is there to talk about, besides fairies? There's a world outside of godparents? What a revelation!

"Er, yes. See you then."

"When? You never set up the date and you don't know where I live!" _How could he forget something so important? _

"Don't you know how to set up a date?"

"Not really, no. Every time I tried to, the girls ran screaming."

_Who would blame them?_

She sighs and gives him her address and phone number, in case there's an emergency and he has to confirm something. Under no circumstances can he cancel the date. Only she has that power, since this confirms his future employment.

That set, Crocker leaves her office, not looking forward to Friday night.

TBC


	3. A Hard Day's Night

Author's Note: Thank you for all who reviewed and who continue to review. If you read this from chapter to chapter, please submit a new review every chapter, so I get your opinions on each one. If you leave your e-mail address or sign it, I will get back to you a.s.a.p. Thank you.

Disclaimer: These aren't my characters, they are Butch Hartman's, and I am using them without his permission or that of Viacom and Nickelodeon. This is a fan based work and I claim ownership to nothing, aside from the plot of this story.

Chapter Three: A Hard Day's Night

With school blissfully over and the children running rampant out the door, Crocker has time to gather his thoughts and realize just what he's getting himself into. He'd rather take his chances with the police after he's caught stalking again- they might be more forgiving. Besides, with them, he could always just plead insanity (in his case, it's true, anyway).

Once upon a time, he thought Geraldine was in love with him. She'd drop him love notes in his locker and, at times, follow him around. When he turned to confront her, she'd sigh and profess how adorable he was. Then, in college, after the second worse day in his life, Geraldine became distant and icy. It had taken nothing short of a miracle for him to be hired in the first place, especially considering the damage he'd done to her car on the first day.

Now, how on earth was he to win her over, when all he could think about is a certain pink hatted boy and the possibility that the various mysterious, supernatural events surrounding him are fairy oriented. Oh, this would be so much easier if he courted Turner! Not that he would, but at least Turner's civiler to him. This date's going to be a nightmare...

There is no one there, and Crocker leaves his classroom to walk to the "janitor's closet". A few more hours of solitude and then he would be able to go home. All he needs is to obsess over fairies until he's ready to soak his mother's bunions. Just a few hours.

Geraldine stands in front of the door, which has been barricaded. Her arms are folded across her chest and she leans against the wall, her eyes narrowed.

"So, there's something else you haven't told us?" She scowls, and Crocker unconsciously flinches. What has she seen? What if she's reading his reports and downloading his data as they speak? How did she find out?

She brandishes a photo of a crown. "Crocker," she warns, "what did I tell you about keeping your private life separate from school? I-"

Crocker spins around. What stopped her? Not that he's complaining, mind you, but he'd like to thank his savior. And, while he's dealing with said person, he could high-tail it out of there.

"I forgot something," Timmy says, standing in the middle of the hallway, clutching a green notebook and holding a pink backpack. "I wondered if I could just retrieve it?"

"Why not have your fairy godparents get it for you?" Crocker calls, banging his head on the wall in the process. He wishes immediately that he had kept his mouth shut, since the look on her face makes him realize how precarious the situation he's in is. Despite his desires, pursuing Turner might render him jobless.

"Uh, I mean, go ahead. I'm sure this has nothing to do with fairy godparents!" Crocker screeches and headbutts the door.

Timmy, creeped out, swiftly walks to the classroom, fetches a piece of paper from his desk and leaves as quickly as he came. Whatever's going on here, he wants no part of it. Especially since he accidentally eavesdropped and now knows that his principal is aware of the closet and its contents. Acting far too secretive for a boy his age, he's gone in record time for someone known as the slowest runner in his class.

Geraldine watches him go and turns to chew out Crocker again. If she has to say one thing, Crocker's very good at making himself scarce. This is the second time he's slipped out from under her nose and she certainly hopes this isn't becoming a trend. There is one thing to take comfort in- he can't do this Friday without repercussions.

Crocker starts up his fairy detection van and floors it. He's used to running away, since he's done it his whole life. What's odd is that he can't remember a time when he didn't, when he was comfortable and safe. For that matter, he can't remember being happy, all he knows is misery. Running away from his problems and his life, to pursue fairies, is the only safe haven he knows.

If he had fairies, then he would rule the world, and then, he'd be happy. Fairies would grant his every whim and he'd never have time to think about misery. Everyone would worship him and he'd be a god, wanted. He doesn't know what that is now...

He'd like to think that there's someone out there who started this vicious chain. For some odd reason, every time he starts to think about it, he sees a pink hat. A silly pink hat on a pink clad boy, it must be Turner. Turner's behind it, he knows it. But he can't prove it- he can't prove anything yet.

Now he's got another concern, his life long hunt for fairies, leading to general incompetence in every other aspect of life, will lead him to ruin on his date. He has to talk about something interesting, but all he thinks is interesting is fairies. If he even tries to show her his theories, evidence, and peculiar coincidences, he's lost the funding for his research. He can't afford to live like that, especially considering he's paying for his mother's rent.

Crocker turns into his driveway, failing to signal, and some clod honks at him. It's not like he slowed down when he saw Crocker turning either, if Crocker hadn't made the turn so quickly, the jerk in the black SUV would have done $1,000 worth of damage. These machines are very expensive.

Still lost in thought, Crocker absent-mindedly retrieves his mail, since his mother no longer leaves the house. He has to be a good boy and do every chore she asks, buy anything she wants, he must be docile here. How ironic, the only place where he can show his anger at the world is in school, and he's close to losing his escape. Without it, he would become a drone, a mindless slave to his mother.

There, awaiting him in the doorway is his mother. She holds up one of the most awful things he has ever seen, a clash of orange and purple in horizontal stripes, with red bows abound, and it's Velcro. To boot, there's accompanying shoes and a handbag, the bag polka-dotted pink and purple and the shoes red stilettos. She also has a tape measure and Crocker groans, knowing well what this means.

"Denzel, sweetie?" She chimes in her nauseatingly high voice. "Do you think you could try on some outfits for me? I need to measure your chest and shoe size, since it's so close to mine."

_And take the chance the whole world will see me again and laugh? No thanks._

"No!"

"Please," she says and throws the dress on him. The door is still open and a neighborhood boy falls off his bike, laughing. His friends, riding behind him, fall on top of him, too amused by this sight to care.

"Much better."

_At least let me close the door, before this winds up on the Internet._

He kicks the door closed, ignoring the catcalls of the leader. Embarrassed in front of the entire school and now his neighborhood, this is getting to be too much. There isn't much left still sacred. What's next, his computer? His room?

"Oh, _Denzel_," his mother says, "I cleaned and repainted your room, and cleared your hard drive. What were all those crowns and wands?"

At this point, he's ready to scream. First, it was the kid fight and the public scolding, then the janitor's closet, then the dress, and now his room, his room has been violated. He's beyond sanity, if he ever was within those limits to begin with. In fact, he's beyond caring.

Crocker shoves the dress at his mother's chest and runs out of the house, being sure to slam the door.

He isn't sure where he's going, but anywhere's better than here.

His mother stands, alone, holding the dress and its accessories. "Now, who's going to try on my dress?"

AN: Crocker's not having a very good day, is he? (Glomps Crocker)

Please review. Reviews make everything better.


	4. Strawberry Fields

Author's Note: This chapter is short and I apologize. I have school, darn it!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed and I'm glad you like my fic. Please continue to read and review, thank you.

Disclaimer: If I owned FOP, I would have seen "The Big Superhero Wish". I still haven't. (I want cable!)

Chapter Four: Strawberry Fields

He awakes with a start. The painted white wooden bench pokes him in the back due to, no doubt, the abnormal curvature of his spine. This makes him wonder how he could ever fall asleep on such an uncomfortable seat and forces him to recall the reason for his visit to the park, only a few blocks away from Turner's house. It also reminds him that he left his wallet on the front seat of his van, so he's broke.

A gross invasion of privacy, he recalls, made him take flight like that and run blindly, not noticing where he went. He had been so fed up with everything and everyone. No matter what, he had to get out of there, although sitting while hunger gnaws at him is no treat either. So, he has to make a choice- remain here, foodless, or swallow his pride and embarrass himself again.

_Or none of the above. What is _she _doing here? Do I have some sort of tracking device on me?_

Geraldine Waxelplax isn't particularly pleased to him either. Believe it or not, the rest of her day was as bad as his and she came to let out steam. Her house isn't far from the park, only about a two minute walk and she likes to watch the sunset on the park bench, _her_ bench, the one Crocker sits on right now. Blood boiling, she stands in front of him, ready to hoist hi up and throw him into the nearby bushes. This, like the kid fight, she does _not_ need.

"Get up!" She barks, abandoning all pretenses.

Crocker, who she thinks lives to irritate her, hasn't noticed her. He watches a green squirrel show a whole pile of nuts to a pink squirrel and they chatter happily. They both have crowns above their heads. The time is nigh.

"Fairies!" Crocker calls, ecstatic, and they run off, disappearing into a bush (the park's littered with them).

"No," Geraldine snaps, her patience waning, "it's me. But nice guess." _Psycho._

"Huh?" Crocker spins back around to look up at her. She towers above him, her more than ample bosom heaving with anger.

"This is my bench-"; she stops, realizing how petty she's being. All this fuss over a seat? Okay, she had a bad day and he's the cause of it. Perhaps she should put her anger aside and give him a break.

"-and I don't appreciate you sleeping on it." Or maybe not.

Crocker, who hates competition something fierce, but doesn't want to go home, half rises.

"Oh, forget it!" She snaps and sits down. "Move over."

Crocker does, nearly falling off the bench. In his haste, he forgets the bench is only five feet long and she takes up 3/5 of it. This is okay, since he's scrawny, but rather uncomfortable because he wants no part of her and they're squashed together. Oh, well.

"Look!" She exclaims, rising her right arm, hitting Crocker in the face.

Crocker rubs his face, jabbering her in the chest.

Before they know it, they're in an argument which involves a lot of accidental hitting. As they fight, the sun sets and they stop long enough to watch. Her left elbow is in his right socket and his right elbow is in her stomach. Exhausted and battered, they reluctantly call a truce.

Gorgeous pinks and oranges light up the sky, colored like bubble gum and sherbet, making Geraldine's mouth water. The sun sinks slowly, symbolizing the school situation and it immobilizes them, growls germinating from Geraldine, thinking of the greatness of grub. In fact, she's hungry right now...

Crocker sits and doesn't think, just lets the color wash over him. For the first time in his life, he feels calm and secure. He's not hiding anything, pursuing anyone, being heckled; he's lost in the awesome feel of nature. To think, fairies never cross his mind, for a few blissful seconds, he is sane.

_This is nice_, Crocker thinks, his hand brushing against hers. He doesn't apologize; he doesn't feel the need to. Besides, both are lost in the moment, speaking but neither truly understands what is being said.

After a while, she leaves and he remains. What's curious is that neither recalls the conversation, even when they think about it much later on, yet there is twenty dollar bill where she was.

He doesn't have to go home just yet.


	5. Nowhere Man

Chapter Five: Nowhere Man

Disclaimer: I do not own FOP. Thank you.

Crocker wanders aimlessly, no longer in the park but a densely populated main avenue. The stores, all advertising various venues of clothing, out of which burst fashionable, scantily clad women and their male counterparts, the khaki bearing dubs, don't interest him. They meander about, careful not to come too close in case such atrocities as a "fashion don't" should rub off on them. Curiously, the only thing of note is their conformity; all don red pleather mini-skirts coming up to mid thigh and black tank tops which are more like sports bras than shirts.

The air is slightly nippy; the result of early April unhappily delegating its warmth to a cold front, but Crocker is comfortable. After enduring countless cold showers (a result of fairy hunting in the boys' locker room after the freshmen homecoming game), the cold no longer bothers him outwardly. He's still capable of frost bite, however, but at least this isn't the season for it.

A cozy little Italian place by the name of Il Maestro is around the corner and its vine covered walls beckon. Said restaurant enjoys a reputation as a quiet, dimly lit eatery with violinists softly serenading its guests with ballads and even has reasonable prices for the budge minded consumer, or, in this case, for the consumer on twenty dollars of borrowed money. It's the perfect place for dates or solitude, since speech dies within a few centimeters of its utterance. There is valet parking, too, for a fraction of the price of an entrèe, but Crocker speedily bypasses the parking lot to the entrance.

Upon entrance, a well dressed maitre'd in a black tuxedo and a red tie greets him and shows him to his table, a small red booth in the far right corner with a red checkered tablecloth and a single, stubby, lit candle. He hands him a plain yellow menu engraved in elegant gold lettering and bids him to take his seat.

Crocker does and orders a platter of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of water. The service is quick and his meal arrives within fifteen minutes. He begins to eat but soon ceases, lost in the days of yore.

_It is his junior dinner and he's dateless. All the other guys managed this feat and Crocker couldn't swing it. What's worse is that attendance is mandatory: his mother delivered an ultimatum wherein he can't safely leave his room without an electrocution. So, there he is, standing alone in a white tuxedo with a pink corsage in the pathetic hopes that someone will become fed up with her date and commiserate with him. For all its worth, Crocker wants to be happy and normal, if just for tonight._

_Clad in a blue buttoned dress reaching her knees, Geraldine Waxelplax and her date, a boy whose name he doesn't know but has a gigantic boil on his face, walk inside. She gives him a pitying look and offers a small smile but glides past him, toward the music in the gym, all decked out for the occasion. Of course she wants to comfort him, she knows this as she walks to her seat, but, right now, she has plans to dance the night away, after dinner, naturally. Despite any love she harbors, her date did ask her first, and timing was crucial, especially since it seemed he asked every girl in school before her._

_Rainbow streamers dangle from the ceiling and, glancing at the little pink and white paper cutout hearts complimenting them, he recalls with a pang that today is Valentine's Day. How horrible it is, to be dateless today of all days, alone on tonight of all nights, with none to clutch his arm and simper like the other girls do. There is none to give his heart to and none to receive it. Oh, how he loathes solitude._

_He takes his seat at a small, circular table covered with a white tablecloth and the couple sitting there vacates. The students give him a wide berth, all of relocating to seats across the room. A few remain since there are only so many tables and they have to sit somewhere but they are deeply displeased with this arrangement, their discomfort written on their faces in the form of a grimace. What's sad is that these are the people who like him (not friends, though, no one wants to be Crocker's friend, like no one wants to give him her heart)._

_Geraldine and her date are in the metal fold up chairs behind him, waiting for the waiter to take their order. She says nothing to Crocker but as her date tries to strike up a conversation, her answers are somewhat stunted, since her eyes are on Crocker. No matter how bad his timing, she feels guilty that he's alone and worse still that everyone avoids him. If only her date didn't grab her arm to emphasize a point._

_Some couples dance slowly, eyes only for their loves (for the moment, at least) and others neck in the shadows. Wherever the chaperones are, they don't care, since they vanished somewhere between their arrival and the ticket check. Presumably, there are better things to do and they aren't paid to make sure nothing unusual happens, like a fight. This could spell mass chaos, though, since the D.J. and the help are the only adults present and they aren't up for stopping anything short of a record or a stove fire._

_The male bully of the junior class (the class of 1980 has two, what lucky people), Fernando, a hulk of a child at six feet nine inches with a build like a concrete wall and punches to match, strolls in, unfashionably late with his date, his female counterpart. He bears a grudge against Crocker because all bullies dislike scrawny, odd kids and enjoys the thought of beating him into the ground, especially considering he's dateless. If his girlfriend wants, she can join in on the fun. It's not like anyone'll stop him, like anyone likes that skinny little freak. There's no way he'll get in trouble._

_Crocker looks up into Fernando's face, his tan features in a cruel grin. Fernando pounds his fists together and winces at the sound of flesh hitting flesh. That's going to be him in a few seconds…_

_Geraldine's head jerks back up from her study of the menu (she's trying to decide if she can order every entrèe, but she's not sure what some of them are, since the menu and the theme is French) and takes in the scene before her. Poor Crocker's going to be murdered. Fernando never shows any mercy. Maybe she can stop it; maybe he won't do it if someone objects. She prays frantically._

"_You know," Fernando throws his hand down on the table, "we still haven't settled our differences."_

_His girlfriend, a tall girl with shoulder length mousy brown hair, a strapless pink dress, and stiletto black heels, leers at Crocker and stands at Fernando's side. Aside from her height and temper (she misconstrues everything), she looks deceptively docile. This is what makes her such a formidable opponent, since others underestimate her and she wipes the floor with them. In fact, the duo's notoriety was what attracted them to each other in the first place. When he saw her throwing that kid in a trash can and then dumping rancid cole slaw on their head, it was love at first sight. Ah, what terrible things they could do together_

_He picks up Crocker by his tie and dangles him precariously close to the slender, tall, white, and brightly burning candle held in a gold candle holder. Crocker can feel the heat on the soles of his feet. What a way to go, burning to death in front of his entire class._

_Or perhaps not. Fernando slams him against the white brick wall and pummels him hard in the stomach. At his point, he's uncertain, but he may be bleeding internally. His meals gurgle unpleasantly and he's terrified of throwing up on this guy. If Fernando wasn't going to kill him before, regurgitating might change his mind._

_Every eye in the room is on them. The couples have stopped dancing on the hard wood floor, the waiter no longer writes the orders, people cease in mid-sentence, mouths agape. At the turntables, the D.J., a pale, spindly man with black hair and a black vest, drops his head on the record currently playing and stares, apparently deaf to the scratches of the needle destroying the grooves. A crash is heard in the kitchen and all the chefs turn from their business to peer out the small window and watch the fight._

That's just what I want, _Crocker thinks_, murdered with so many witnesses. What don't any of them help me?

_Geraldine and her date also turn to gaze at them. Unlike the others, who clamor for Crocker's beating, she's concerned. The last person of this stature to suffer this rage died or so it was rumored. What she's heard may be a truth or a lie, the whole situation was hush-hush. Why doesn't she rush out there and stop it? Paralyzed with indecision, she watches helplessly as her date cheers Fernando on._

_Over and over, until Crocker's vision is blurry and he sees double, Fernando punches him everywhere within reach. Bones break but Crocker is oblivious since it's all he can do is remain conscious throughout this torment._

_Spell-bound, they watch until the gym door is shoved open and the principal, who had been watching the hockey game on TV, burst inside to scold the students (their cheers were so loud he couldn't hear his game all the way on the other end of the school, imagine that). His mouth falls open at the scene before him and Crocker, the bully's grip loosened, falls to the floor with a barely audible "plop". Minutes tick away and all wait for the second shoe to fall. This takes only a few seconds._

"_What have you done?" Geraldine cries and rushes to Crocker's side, feeling for a pulse. Luckily, there is one, faint but steady. A drop of blood slides down his temple onto his jacket, splattering the perfect white into a bloody nightmare. _Oh, Lord, what a nightmare…

_The rest is a blur. Every once in a while, he would regain consciousness (the ambulance, the doctor, the hospital), but she's there throughout. All he remembers is her whispers in his ear, "I love you. Everything will be all right…"_

Crocker sits up with a start. Around him, the janitorial staff sweeps the floor while the busboys clear the tables and wipe them down. A very angry manager walks toward him, holding up a bill and shaking his fists at him. Alongside the manager are waiters and the valet who wear identical grimaces.

He spent too long pondering the past and forgot about the present. As in, it's ten o'clock and the nice people would like to go home, but they can't since he's still here. You can't slip into memories anymore, apparently.

"Pay more," the manager snaps, completely fed up, 'and get out!" He brandishes a broom and Crocker winces; it reminds him of what used to be one of Fernando's favorite things to do, slam brooms in people's faces.

Crocker does so and the bill, he notes with a little shudder, has gone up considerably. Normally, it's $4.95 for spaghetti and water is free, but they charged him an extra fifteen for room and board. Broke, he steps out into the brisk night air with the staff screaming curses at his back.

Gone from the angry mob, he once more lapses into thought.

_Fernando was sentenced to a half a month in juvy, a light sentence since no one would believe me. He came out a changed man- he hated juvy. Upon his release, the family moved to New Jersey and he had a child with the same name_, Crocker thinks.

A soft smile on his lips, Crocker goes home.


	6. Eleanor Rigby

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP.

Chapter Six: Eleanor Rigby

She walks home, her eyes glancing every which way but on the path before her. This is her daily ritual, walking home in the twilight, the stars providing a peaceful background (Dimmsdale is a small city whose skyline has yet to be besmirched by pollution). Thus, she could be calm and collected as she strives to lose weight, albeit slowly.

"Oh! A Down 'Em Doughnuts!" Geraldine cries in sheer delight and stops on a dime (literally, her blue heel crushes it). Alas, the baby steps fall too far short. Perhaps this is too much to ask of a woman who would follow a sandwich tied to a string down the halls. Perhaps, it's simply because they built a Down 'Em Doughnuts where she lives because she lives there (she's known as a reputable source of income for struggling food businesses).

Staring at the delicious delicacies twirling in the window display, she gazes wistfully at the gigantic ten-layer strawberry shortcake engulfed in white, swirled icing and bedecked with monstrous strawberries. A price tag above it proclaims: "39.99. Real cheap!" Of course, her mind and her wallet are greatly swayed by this show and she unconsciously walks in the door to discover something that fills her with disappointment.

A quick peruse of her wallet reveals only five dollars in cash and no credit or debt cards in sight. Oh, the golden gargantuan cannot be hers, not at this time. Another day and hopefully another thirty-five dollars richer. Poor Geraldine fairly starves on her diet of pastries and junk food.

Closing her wallet (as all the employees' hearts sink, no raise in the immediate future) and stuffing it back into her large, tan, leather pocketbook, she strolls out to the street and proceeds, uninterrupted, to her house.

Levitt himself would have been proud. The prime example of a Levitt town house, Geraldine lives in a small white house with a white picket fence surrounding it, exactly two bedrooms (not a half one in sight), a living room, a bathroom, and a kitchen. However, unlike Crocker, who must face his mother when he returns, she lives alone, where any noise echoes maddeningly.

No wonder she likes Beatles' songs so much, they provide needed release, especially that song about the girl who lived alone, never married, and died alone. What's the name of that song again? It's on the tip of her tongue, she knows she's seen it recently...

Jamming her slender golden key into the slightly protruding lock, she leans against the white wooden door and slips inside. To greet her is the translucent glass vase containing a single white rose (a gift from one of her esteemed colleagues, not Crocker) and the mail, which has inadvertently trodden upon, splashing a "_Les Gens_" with mud from the park (it rained yesterday). No dog, no cat, nothing to rub against her and show affection. Alone...

Slipping off her shoes, she bends down, retrieves her mail, and strolls to the kitchen. The kitchen is painted yellow with a prominent Victorian polished wood table whose chairs conflict, metal fold up chairs minus the cushions (principals don't make much more than teachers). It has white cabinets lining the walls and a small white refrigerator on the right with double doors and an ice-maker. White countertops line the area beneath the cabinets and only a coffee maker sits upon them.

Throwing her mail on the table, she collapses into a chair which protests under her weight. Around her are reminders on the life of a middle aged spinster- the fridge is bare, devoid of children's drawings and various mementos. No husband to kiss her on the cheek as a greeting, no children to shout and call along the hallway. In school, she can pretend the kids are her own, with their petty squabbles and carefree days. Here, the illusion falls through.

"_Oh, that Denzel Crocker is so groovy!" Geraldine gushes to her friends, a girl with long, plaited blond hair down to her knees, a yellow t-shirt with a heart on it, bell bottoms and a string of flowers around her neck and another girl with long, wavy, black hair which reaches to mid-back and a tie dye purple t-shirt hanging just below her waist and also wears bell bottoms. They stand in polite inattentiveness, sick of their friend, whom they may love dearly, yet both are weary of this topic. Day in and day out, Denzel this and Denzel that. If he's so great, they muse, then why did a mob try to run him out of town a year ago?_

_All three are in Geraldine's kitchen, the black haired girl, Michelle, and the towheaded girl, Mia, sitting, facing each other, clutching pink, flowered, metal lunch boxes. Geraldine stands, swooning, leaning back on the counter. A history textbook is open before them, outlining the end of World War II, what they are supposed to study, but homework only interests them for a limited amount of time._

"_You've only told us a hundred times today!" Mia snaps, her temper shorter than Michelle's. Arms folded across her chest, she fixes a cruel gaze at Geraldine._

"_That boy is so creepy," Michelle mutters, not bothering to spare her friend's feelings. Reminders once or twice a day of her love for him is all right, but she is at the end of her tether._

"_No, he's not! He's sweet, caring, and..."Geraldine searches for another adjective, "...well groomed." Desperately, she tries to force the pain their comments cause her._

"_Er, yeah. Sure," Michelle says, not meeting Geraldine's eyes. "Let's study."_

Ironically, not much has changed. There, she sits, in the same kitchen as she had thirty one years ago, no school books in sight but studying all the same. Sure, there is no test in the immediate future, but she must prepare.

For what, one might ask. She prepares a way to survive their date. Oh, how she loathes shrimp puffs.

A pale blue (her favorite color) is the color of her bedroom, and a TV set, dressers, and a full length mirror to the right of her bed. The windows are slightly ajar, a cool night breeze blowing on her and the azure drapes billow slightly. On the door is a single coat hook where her suit for tomorrow, identical to today's, hangs.

Sliding in and out of consciousness, the thoughts prevail for the moment.

_The ridicule I endured because of you, _Geraldine reflects as she lays awake in her queen sized bed, her quilted comforter pulled up to her chest. _Was it worth it? Is anything you do worth sparing your feelings?_

_Why do I continue to spare you? You're a psychotic moron, obsessed with fairies, and you always put the children and me in danger. You're rude, inconsiderate, and... _

Slowly dropping off to sleep, the clock on her bedside table blinking a furious, red 10:30 p.m., she has one last, conscious thought. _And yet..._


	7. Let It Be

Author's Note: Miss me? C'mon, admit it, you did. You know it.

            As for "flames suck", I have a flame and a review concerning personal matters (of my own reviews) up on the review page. When I saw the flame, I panicked and put that up. Four years ago, when I was teamrocket54, a naïve twelve year old newbie, I was flamed to death. A guy by the name of Orinocono (he's still here, by the way, as are my weak retorts for reviews) e-mailed me constantly with death threats and killed my stories in the same manner. The girl who flamed me now (after I spoke the truth about her own fanfic), sent me a nasty e-mail in addition, so now you know the whole story

            Hallelujah! Fanfiction.net's back up! That means, in a few hours, you'll get another chapter of this (since I already wrote it when the site was down).

Disclaimer: If I owned FOP, then, well, you can fill in the blank with the appropriate phrase.

Chapter Seven: Let It Be

            Crocker mumbles an apology to his mother, still standing at the door, and drags himself upstairs to bed. His eyes are slits and he's exhausted; he can barely function. It takes all of his stamina to undress and throw himself sideways on his bed. Today was a long day and tomorrow won't be better.

            Falling asleep in a matter of seconds, Crocker's dreams are vague and when he awakes, he can't recall them.

***

            The morning has come far too early for his liking. Bereft of curtains, the sun's full intensity blinds him through the windows and he briefly entertains the notion of his eyes crusting over. With light unfiltered capturing every spare inch of his room, the bareness hurts a bit. However, it doesn't hurt nearly as much as the idea of teaching today.

            For once, he ponders whether he should call in sick. Despite any ulterior motives involved in this move, he's not so sure he calls the shots any more. He's not sure she'll _let _him call in sick. The thought depresses him immensely.

            Sliding out of bed, squinting against the harshness of the sunlight, Crocker half-sleep walks to his dresser and prepares for another (hopefully) hum-drum day.

***

            Pulp filled orange juice and buttered toast await him on the table. It looks even less appealing than it has for the last ten years. So much for variety begin the spice of life. No wonder all his meals are so dull, he's had them all before.

            Glaring at the foot which dares to call itself a meal with repugnance, Crocker, nauseated, slides down into his seat. He can't, for the life of him, imagine eating this stuff.

            Bile rising in his throat, he asks if he could just leave (at the moment, he really doesn't care about his mother's feelings- he's too panicked about school) and goes so quickly the chair shakes from the momentum produced. Mrs. Crocker is left staring at an empty chair, mouth agape.

            "What about your coffee?" She calls to the space and holds up a cup of a liquid with the consistency of dirt.

            Mrs. Crocker should count her blessings that she didn't hear his response.

***

            Another unwelcome atrocity awaits him when he reaches for his driver's door. Graffitied all over with slurs (most not fit to repeat in polite company) and spray painted with an obscene hand, this is the state of Crocker's van today. Apparently, the neighborhood boys weren't content to simply mock him; they had to leave a deeper mark. Not an inch was missed on the van- even the underside was covered.

            The rest of his day isn't any better. From avoiding Geraldine and accidentally walking into the popular girls' room (where Trixie Tang was putting on makeup), to literally tripping over Timmy and landing headfirst into a garbage can, and, finally, discovering he left the keys in the ignition and the truck in drive (the trees in front of the school are Weeping Willows and are they weeping), this day ranks up there with March 15th. In fact, it's vying for worst day ever in a human life.

            Now, he has to survive the rest of the week

***

            Thursday morning- he has to teach lab today. That means two periods of "was that an explosion? I didn't know that was flammable!" His head hurts just thinking about it. If only the students became rocks, then he might make it out of lab without a single injury on either his part or the students'.

            Crocker bikes to work now. Of course, he has to get up even earlier since it's a lot slower than a car and the chain is rusty, but he can't afford the repairs, both to the tree and the car. (Geraldine insists the tree needs money for pain and suffering). At this rate, with the fates they way they are, he'll roll up to work in a wheelchair. (Guess what? His bike also needs repair.)

            To boot, he's broke. His mother took his money as reparation for running out of the house and used to make another hideous contraption Crocker's been caught dead in. No longer able to afford lunch, he eats a bagged lunch with a note from his mother. Kids steal it and declare its contents over the morning announcements.

            Wheeling as quickly as he can at five miles an hour (his bike is circa nineteen seventy, the same bike he used when he was ten), Crocker ignores the buses that pass him and the laughter at his expense. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to remember a poem he was taught when he saw young.

            _It's okay. I'm still here. Yeah, right._

Even the driver, whose eyes are definitely _not _on the road, laughs his head off at this grown man riding a child's bike. His passengers can't breathe, they're positively howling with laughter and one of them pounds the window.

            "When I have fairy godparents," Crocker mutters under his breath, spazzing out so badly he hits himself with the handlebars, rusted right through, "you'll pay! When I'm supreme ruler of the universe!"

            "Yeah, right!" The same guy who pounded the window calls. "Crackpot!"

            Crocker grumbles but restrains himself. A quick reference to his watch lets him know there are only twenty minutes left until school begins and it takes at least twenty five to get there.

            He doesn't want to think about what'll happen if he's late. Geraldine told him that if he does one more thing wrong, the date is off and he's gone. Wasting time yelling magical threats qualifies.

            Pressing his foot to the pink pedal, Crocker contents himself with one last shout. "You'll bow down to me when I rule you!"

            The wind gushes through his hair for about ten minutes before the whole bike rusts and falls apart beneath him.

***

            He's late; he's late, for a very important date. No time to say sorry for running a kid into the pavement, he's late. If he's the rabbit, then Geraldine's definitely the Queen of Hearts. And, oh, is he late.

            Crocker runs through the double doors, officially an hour late. He pants for breath and no longer looks where he's going. This proves to be a huge mistake.

            "Hello," Geraldine says coldly and is about to launch into a tirade when Crocker mows her down.

            "I'm late! My class is unattended and I'm late!" Crocker runs into his classroom while Geraldine attempts to stand up.

            She rolls around on the floor, dirtying herself more and more by the second; her rotund body is definitely her downfall. Trying to move into a better position, she forms a ball and proceeds to roll down the hallway like a gigantic boulder, over and over.

            "Crocker!" She screams past his door but is unable to stop.

            The fifth grade class watches this and breaks into peals of laughter. The sub smiles but doesn't dare laugh in case the principal hears her and decides to fire her. Rumor has it she's in a bad mood (could it be that she's currently spinning like a top in the dust and dirt of the halls?) and this sub doesn't want to further aggravate her.

            Crocker mows down the sub as well and she flies out the open window onto the grass, a little startled but otherwise fine.

            Everyone falls silent, except for Timmy Turner, who's whispering to his pencil and eraser. All eyes fall upon him.

            "If you're done talking to your fairies," Crocker ran headfirst into the chalkboard, "we have a lab to set up."

***

Author's Note: Geraldine's fine. She'll just be extremely dirty when she comes to scream her lungs out at Crocker. Happy, people?


	8. When I'm Sixty Four

Author's Note: Hello, again. It's been what, a few hours, since we last met? How are you? In a reading and reviewing mood? That's good.

Watch FOP? No, well, neither did I (not having cable stinks!).

Disclaimer: Boy, am I sick of these things. Look, people, if I owned FOP, you'd cower under your tables right now and pray for salvation. After The Other Saga, if Butch Hartman knew about it, he'd get me as far away from a computer and FOP as possible. In short, I don't own Fairly Oddparents. (Although I would like to. Can you imagine how much he makes off of it? I want some of that money!)

Chapter Eight: When I'm Sixty-Four

           Alcohol burners, test tubes, potassium chloride, all of these are at the ready. Not to mention heat screens, ring stands, water, and goggles. In how many combinations can these different items go wrong? Crocker's about to find out. The ceiling and the lab tables will never be the same again.

            For one thing, there are only five alcohol burners and ten groups of two.  On the other hand, after some rummaging, the class has discovered a few more, only they don't work very well. If they're lit, they send up a tower of flames, successfully burning off Crocker's eyebrows. At least there are heat screens to prevent this, right?

            Wrong. All the screens are rusted after some fool's decision to wash them. Once an alcohol burner is lit beneath them, they rust right through, the fire directly heating the test tube. Bubbling water solutions of potassium chloride, an unknown chemical, and an open flame don't mix well. 

            Timmy Turner leans over the lab table where three alcohol burners are present. One is the regular clear bottle, but two are of slightly unusual coloring. In a low murmur, as he regards the class, he whispers to them a phrase containing the words "I wish". A lab coat appears along with dragon hide gloves but, since it closely resembles the attire donned by the class, it is unnoticed.

            "Aha!" Crocker calls triumphantly upon spotting the pink and green burners. "Who's missing one?" He grabs them off the table, much to their discontent.

            Ten hands rise, including one with a rock. Yes, the return of the rock; at least this partner won't set the building ablaze. It may be the only thing in the room that's _not _flammable. (Every single lab table and even the sinks are made of wood. A brilliant move on the part of the planning board).

            In Crocker's hands, the pink and green burners call out and threaten bodily harm. Although muffled by his strong grasp, Crocker, too exhausted from running to school, fails to recognize what's right in front of him. He passes them to Sanjay and Elmer's group.

            Things go well until Sanjay tries to light his burner, the green one. It panics and Sanjay, startled, knocks it off the table. Crocker tries gallantly to grab it but snatches at the flame instead. Of course, this is when Geraldine, after rolling all the way out the door and into the library, manages to roll her way back to Crocker's classroom.

            Standing, covered with a film of dust, twigs in her hair, mud on her suit, generally filthy, she, extremely angry, looms in the doorway. Truthfully, she is so angry that she trembles as she watches Crocker dash madly to the sink and try to cool his hands.

            "Crocker!" She screeches. All the words in the world cannot sufficiently express her fury. Even as he frantically tries to end the pain, she makes no motion to help. Her look alone is enough to send shivers down his spine and put his hands into ice blocks.

            Crocker finally plunges his hands into the ice cold water set up for him (Sanjay, feeling slightly guilty, turned it on), while Geraldine narrows the space between them until there's naught an inch difference.

            Utterly silent, the students stand and watch, except for the green burner, sighing in relief. Next to him is a pink water bottle (the pink alcohol burner is gone) and Timmy, overlooked, sweeps them both up and places them on the lab table.

            "You!" She says, her voice deceptively calm, but he shudders at what he's unwittingly unleashed. The thunder storm has begun…

            Pointing at him, she slowly advances until he's up against the sink. Cold water from the faucet drips down his back but this is the least of his concerns.

            "Have you any idea what you've done?"

            Crocker winces. "Knocked into you and sent you rolling through the school," he says and forces a smile. "But at least I didn't destroy your car again!"

            "I think transportation is the least of your worries right now." Again, her tone is level; it's more of an interpretation of the amount of danger he's in that clues him in.

            Sanjay, imbued with a certain sense of righteousness, clears his throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for Crocker to burn himself-"

            Geraldine shoots daggers with her eyes at him and he falls silent.

            "I'll just cower here," he mutters and sinks below the table.

            "Didn't I tell you that you had one more chance?" Her finger is precariously close to his eye socket and he shuts his eyes intuitively.

            _I want to cower too._

Obviously, these are rhetorical questions since she takes no heed of him and plows right through her speech (she constructed it while rolling about). Briefly, he wonders why she bothers to phrase them as questions if she wants no answers. At least he didn't tell her this- what she doesn't need is more fuel.

            "Late to work and you sent me spinning like a top through the halls?"

            Some snickering results but she glares at the group and they cease. If her rage is focused on Crocker, it's for the best. None of them want to bare the brunt of that storm. Besides, Crocker would be fired and who would want to interrupt such a momentous occasion?

            "Funny story…"

            "Let me guess- it has something to do with fairies? I don't care! The date is off, you're through, gone, finished, out like yesterday's leftovers…"

            "Actually," A.J. says, surprising himself, "it's customary to hold a trial before convicting a person. You have to find probable cause and at least let the defendant speak on his own behalf."

            "You did teach them something," Geraldine says sarcastically. "Maybe you're not totally useless."

            "No. See?" He dashes to the blackboard as though to teach something but he can't hold the chalk due to his burns. A look of intense pain is written on his face but he remains smiling like a buffoon, hoping it will work.

            Geraldine scowls but some of her anger seeps away. Why did she have to fall in love with him so long ago? _I can't fire him like this, not while he's  in this much pain. Besides, didn't Sanjay say something about unintentionally burning him? Crocker could have been protecting his students._

            Silence isn't golden here. With every second that ticks away, Crocker is further reminded of both his physical pain and emotional torture. What he wouldn't give for her to speak right now! Although if it concerns a pink slip, he prefers the silence.

            "Go down to the nurses' office before your hands blister any more," she says finally after five minutes. "Just go."

            Blistering they are. Crocker's hands are a mass of swollen pink skin and heat runs through them like they're on a hot plate. In a matter of time, he'll howl and his eyes will tear (they have begun to already). He'll be lucky to use his hands in the immediate future at all. There's one good part about being a teacher, he recalls, he won't have to sign a pass before rushing off.

            Dashing crazily, Crocker leaves and she takes his place at the head of the class. Only a few seconds pass before she recalls she's not qualified to teach lab, another good point for Crocker since he's the only one in school who can. However, if she were, she would have realized the danger of mixing the highly flammable liquids in the back metal cabinet with the already steaming test tubes.

            Boom! A gigantic stream of red, yellow, and green explodes out of a test tube near the window and burns a hole in the ceiling. As is this isn't enough, another detonates and a lab table is reduced to rubble. Unfortunately, this yields a chain reaction, not concluding until…

            "Out! Everyone! Now!" Geraldine screams and the students, hands atop their heads, several covered in ash, flee via the nearby main entrance.

            While they stand outside, their classroom smolders. The low budget tables quickly catch and it jump-starts another blast, accompanied by curiously white smoke. Red metal flies out the broken windows and they duck.

            "That was the fire extinguisher?!" A.J. cries in disbelief.

            "Cool! Twisted metal!" Chester yells and rushes toward it.

            "Uh, I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

            "Why not?"

            "It's extremely hot due to the fact that it recently exploded," A.J. says but Chester and Timmy, coming out of nowhere, rush to investigate.

            Meanwhile, the smoke resulting from the chemical combustion and the fire extinguisher cease and the fire is gone, although left behind is a sorry state. In its residue are the remnants of tables and a vast majority of the lab equipment, untouched, astonishingly. Glass litters the floor from test tubes breaking and the heat screens are melted beyond recognition, but there's one cheery thought.

            _At least Crocker didn't cause this, _Geraldine sighs. _I'd better finish yelling at him before they take him to the hospital._

The very same sub who flew out the window runs up to her and observes the room.

            "Watch them," Geraldine tells this young, scrawny, brown haired sub. Quicker than any can blink, the principal is up the stairs and back inside.

            "What is this, musical teachers?" A.J. grumbles angrily.

            "Aw, who cares? Shrapnel!" Chester yells gleefully.

***

            Colliding with Crocker as he awaits the nurse's return, Geraldine just makes in time before he's rushed to the emergency room. Like this morning, one of them is sent sprawling, but this time, it's him. Another event to weigh on her conscience, Crocker attempts to break his fall with his hands and, as one could expect, lands on them.

            He jumps up and runs around the waiting room, positively screaming in agony. If it's possible, her guilt has increased ten-fold. There's nothing like the former love of one's life absolutely sobbing with 2nd degree burns to play with one's conscience. Nothing at all…

            This isn't her fault, she must repeat to herself, even though it fails to convince her. Lying has never been her strong point and lying to herself is nearly impossible. Mainly, she can never lie when she consciously knows she's doing so. Fooling yourself is a foolish thought at best.

            "Sorry." She winces; Crocker runs about like a chicken without a head and his hands are a mess. At the moment, he tries everything to nullify the pain and endeavors to open the freezer, but this requires a clenching of one's hands and thus, sends spasms through his body. Well, he's not raving about fairy godparents.

            Crocker's only response to her apology is a muffled cry; he's accidentally thrown himself into the dividing curtain. Arms flailing wildly, he struggles to extract himself. Legs jut out of the brown sheet.

            Geraldine, thinking of redemption, frees him just as the nurse walks in again.

            "I've the forms," she says but halts dead in her tracks. Geraldine's arms are wrapped around the curtains in such a way that they are tightly wound about Crocker's throat and he appears to be fighting her off, a leg near her shin.

            "Er…" _I know no one likes him but isn't this taking things a bit too far?_

"This isn't what it looks like," Geraldine stammers and exits post haste.

            "See you tomorrow night," she calls over her shoulder. _Great, now _I _look like the psycho._

From inside the nurses' station, Crocker falls out of the sheet and gazes up the nurse. "I can, ow!, explain."

***

Author's Note: Haven't you ever tried to bump off one of your dates? Seriously, though, she wasn't trying to kill Crocker. It just sort of looked that way (a Freudian slip).

            Er, um, yeah. Crocker'll be out of the hospital by Friday night, rest assured. However, these burns will affect the date significantly.


	9. I Wanna Hold Your Hand

Chapter Nine: I Wanna Hold Your Hand

Disclaimer: Don't own FOP. Duh.

           The night all have awaited, some with trepidation, some glee, and some simply so they can stay up past their bedtime. For two lucky adults, Friday night is D-Day, no, not when the Allies stormed Germany, but _Date _Day. All hopes and prayers hang on this very special time, when Crocker's future employment is determined. Needless to say, Crocker has tried his best to run up against time, to prevent Friday the 13th.

            With her dress finally pressed and cleaned (it took at least six hours to eradicate all signs of filth), Geraldine fears what is to come, since their recent track record is dubious. Even though she considers it folly, there is an ominous presence saturating the air. Nothing she can put a name to, it's simply there. Between her revolution and the date, the upcoming events are against her.

            Her lips in a thin line, she pulls up to Crocker's house and remains in the driver's seat. She closes her eyes and frantically tries to imagine this going well, bidding all scenarios involving arrest to flee. Yes, she can do this (and not hear the tell-tale sirens!)

            Gathering her wits, she shoves the door open and muses on the irony of the situation. The typical date is reversed- she is one to pick up her date, drive and probably foot the bill, provided Crocker does something insanely stupid and winds up fired. Heavens, *she* doesn't envy herself.

            Swallowing the bile newly arisen in her throat, Geraldine rings the doorbell. A thousand thoughts assail her at once, but none as strong as the notion of tempting fate by asking the question: "just how much worse can it get?" She, of course, knows the answer intuitively, much. It might be nice if she is proven wrong for a change.

            At attention like a soldier, a well-dressed Crocker, behind the door, stands perfectly motionless. His hands at his sides, there is a bouquet of white roses in his left hand and a plain, large, red Valentine heart in his right (clearance tag adjacent). Donning a white tuxedo (reminding her painfully of their junior dinner) and a black bowtie stiffly about his neck, hair combed neatly, Crocker appears to be the perfect model of a gentleman (spend five minutes in his company and one will soon revise their opinion). He's like a choir boy, were the choir composed of unnatural, spindly men who spend their time on rather unusual hobbies.

            "Are those for me?" Geraldine indicated the box. _Or are they for the police after your arrest?_

Crocker nods dumbly. This is their first two way conversation since Tuesday and the irony is not lost on him. Acting as a lack wit might permit him to retain his dignity and his job. Conversely, it might make no difference.

            "Er, those aren't Belgium chocolates, are they?"

            "They are. Why?"

            "Belgium chocolates make me swell up like a balloon."

           An image of an even more enormous Geraldine, rolling like a pool ball inside the school, flits through Crocker's mind. It takes an extremely vast amount of self-restraint to keep his laughter at bay. .Another thought strikes him: she certainly doesn't need to gain weight as she's the only woman he knows whose gain is exponential.

            "Oh, um…"

            There is a moment of awkward silence broken with a soft sigh. Geraldine shifts her weight to one foot and walks to the car, Crocker following closely.

            "I'll drive." _As it's _my _car._

Sitting in utter silence, the trip is rather uneventful until the first red light. Drumming her fingers lightly on the steering wheel of her antique, 1970's Cadillac convertible, she waits patiently for the light to change. They're making good time. What's one red light?

            Crocker cranes his neck (not extraordinary when one takes into account his unique physique) and examines the bus in front of them, filled to the brim with elementary school kids. Objects are casually thrown across the aisles but this doesn't concern him .The prospect of chasing a bus load of children who might have fairies does and he acts without thinking (something not exactly foreign to him).

            Grabbing the wheel, Crocker presses his foot down on hers and proceeds to trail the bus. He is fought every step of the way by an irate Geraldine who ill appreciates the loss of control. She's not clairvoyant but she has a gut feeling where this heads, as does the oldest tree in Dimmesdale, "Old Barky".

            "Let go!"

            "No!"

            Geraldine jerks the steering wheel hard to the right and the car complies immediately. She can't hit the brake, his foot is in the way, but she can't…

            Crash! Giving way like a dealer to an antique, the tree crumples within an instant of impact. What's worse is the alarms, preventing any abuse of "Old Barky", shriek shrilly in protest and alert every denizen to the street. In no time at all, every occupant of every house (including some of the mob who chased Crocker) crowd around them. 

            Sirens blare and Geraldine's heart sinks, she will be arrested tonight. What on earth possessed her to suppose Crocker changed? Who determines how people are to be tricked by fate? Where is the justice? When did the world become so cruel and unyielding? Why is everyone pointing and laughing?

            In a chorus, all with ear-splitting grins, they chime, "April Fools!"

            Pulling up in his new Rolls-Royce, Doug Dimmadome honks loudly and smirks at them. "I already bought 'Old Barky' here and retired him to some place safe."

            "Then what's…" Geraldine murmurs.

            On cue, her car explodes in pink, green, and blue fireworks. So, it isn't a tree at all, it's fireworks and her car served as the catalyst. All chortle madly at this development and return to their homes. A good time had by all.

            "We set this up two weeks ago and we were just waiting for someone to test it," Doug Dimmadome grins and drives off, much to Geraldine's annoyance.

            She, shoulders hunched, spins on Crocker, positively spitting with anger. Truly it is amazing how much this man brings out her bad side. Talk about bringing her blood to a boil, Crocker made it do so at much below the normal temperature.

            "Have you any idea what you've done?"

            _You don't really want an answer, do you?_

"You lunatic, you mangy cur, you, you, you!" Then, under her breath, "my car!"

            Crocker watches the Chevy burn and the fireworks display, "April Fools!" He tuned her out after 'you lunatic!'. If she says 'you're fired', he might tune her back in. If not, oh, well.

            "You were chasing fairies!"

            _Fairies? Where?_

"You broke the rules we agreed upon!"

            _That's a lot of 'you's'._

"You're fired!"

            Here, he objects. "We agreed a full date. After dinner, you'd decide." He laughs manically.

            _Oh, dear Lord. I did. _"Fine."  
  


            She walks off toward the park, close to their destination, Café Nervosa. _No said I had to enjoy it._

Crocker hurries to catch up. After the many, many chases, he's quite adroit. He had to be, otherwise his pursuers would have caught him. Due to her mass, it takes naught more than a few minutes.

            "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" Crocker inquires. The stars twinkle in the clear, black sky and the full moon shines brightly upon them. An owl hoots somewhere in the distance.

            "Shut up."

            Dimly lit, in the park the duo fail to notice the dangers of the dark. Benches easily avoidable in broad daylight become painful objects to run against. Freshly painted signs leave residues on their clothes. Beehives, dangling precariously on the edge of a branch make good targets for the unwary straight into.

            A mass of yellow and black and a loud buzzing noise announce the bees' arrival. They swarm around Crocker and sting him since he inadvertently stepped on the queen. They go through more queens this way…

            In agony, Crocker darts around and around, making her dizzy. Every so often he tries to pluck out a stinger and screams from the pain. They won't stop coming and he won't stop turning. Like a carousel, around and around and around.

            With a final howl, he sinks to the ground and clutches his head, where the mark of fifty bees remain. Fifty bees, fifty reasons why one should never go outside after dark in a park without lamps. Add to that about fifty bleeding cuts and there's the sum of Crocker's suffering and Geraldine's lack of sympathy. For a principal she certainly could be callous.

            "I'm okay," Crocker springs back up and clenches his teeth. "Fine!"

            _Sure. _"And I'm a fairy godmother," she snaps.

            "You are?"

            "No!" _This guy_, she thinks, annoyed. "Let's just go already."

            Ignoring his whimpers, they find a lit path (they hadn't strayed more than a few feet from it) and end up right in front of Café Nervosa. Geraldine heaves a sigh of relief while Crocker lets out a small declaration of pain. There is the destination, their place, they're getting rained on!

            Rain coming down in buckets, Geraldine holds her arms over her head. There's no way she's dirtying this dress- it's dry clean only. If only it were water repellant as well.

            Crocker allows the rain to wash over his face and soothe it. Unlike her, he welcomes it. The burning ceases for the moment, but his gratification is short lived.

            They step inside Café Nervosa, a small coffeehouse littered with little circular tables. On the right side is a bookcase filled with musty volumes only the highly literate read, although there are two tomes, pink and green, which look brand new. To the back are miniature booths and adjacent to the front wall is the ordering counter. Not to be forgotten, hanging from the ceiling are the light fixtures.

            At seven o'clock, there are none present; only a few enjoy coffee at such a late hour. No entertainment and no specials means no reason to flock here. Hence, not even the loyal patrons attend.

            The help leans relaxed against the counter, impatient for the closing in two hours. As all know, the last two hours of a coffeehouse are basically dead time, but at least they're paid for idleness. However, the video games and late night television beckon.

            Geraldine smiles. She chose this place simply due to the low patronage at this hour: if Crocker makes a scene, less will witness it (unlike the car). None can fathom Crocker's thoughts, if any are sane enough to be handled at any given moment. What's wrong with insurance?  
  


            They swiftly stride to the seats slightly askew from slip of slander. To the right of the door, their table is closer to the wooden bookcase covered in dust than the door. Proximity to and from the other customers is important since it determines how much sound travels. Of course, this doesn't take into account if one of them is reduced to shouting, but it works in theory. (Like many theories, it sounds better in practice than it in execution).

            "Your order? We have Malaysian coffee with cinnamon or macadamia nuts."

            "We'll," Geraldine says, shooting a quick glance at Crocker, cautioning him against speaking, "have two lattes with cinnamon."

            The waiter nods, his long black hair falling in front of his face and hurries to make it. A true believer in capitalism, he's a poor sap.

            In moments, their coffee arrives and the waiter offers Crocker the cups. He figures this is some sort of date and thus wants to allow him to gain brownie points but he didn't count on the "b" factor, the burn factor.

            Crocker grabs them but can't hold on. Hot liquids and burned hands don't mix. Throwing them on the table and missing spectacularly, he manages to spill the contents of both on Geraldine's lap.

            Slinking away before anyone can place the blame solely on him, the waiter is gone.

            At first, no words will come to mind. All that is present is pure fury. She wants to scream like a Neanderthal, shriek like a banshee, but mainly she wants out of here!

            Storming away, she stomps to the bathroom and tries to retain some dignity, whatever portion left her. Of course, this is nearly impossible since she now has coffee burns on her thighs, but she'll make the most of it. She usually does.

            Crocker blanches as his eyes follow her to the bathroom. Under the table, his hands fold and unfold. Anxiety has consumed his being. Frankly, he's far too apprehensive to notice much.

            The restaurant is now empty except for the women in the bathroom. A pin drops and resounds, reminding Crocker of his fate.

***

            In the pink bathroom stall, Geraldine sits atop a toilet seat and contemplates her situation. Outside, two women discuss their own horrid dates and offer her some hope. Sure, Crocker really screwed up, but it can't be any worse than their dates.

            "So, he gets down on one knee and asks if I have any spare change for the meter!"

            "I opened the door and heard a noise. It was my date asking if I could hide him while the police conducted a search for him!"

            "He gave me a cell phone and asked if I could hear him now."

            "He asked me if I was lovin' it while he robbed me of all my earthly possessions!"

            "He said he lowered his cholesterol and dropped dead of a heart attack. (It was the wrong cholesterol)."

            "My date had braided hair and his daughter kept following us around, chattering incessantly."

            "He said all those little dollar bills just trailed him!"

            "Mine said that a can of Chef Boyardee pursued him home!"

            Geraldine clamps a hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter. These women sound like their dates come from commercials or something. No one in their right mind would date such banal men. It makes her own painful experience slightly better.

            Grinning to herself, she walks out (and the women continue to talk).

***

            Crocker, amid two new cups, waits for her, a nervous grin on his face. _Am I fired? Are you really a fairy?_

"I have decided to give you yet another chance," Geraldine notifies him. _How many does that make now?_

Like a dog eager to please his master, Crocker nods and regards her as she carefully sits back down.

            "Why don't you tell me just what happened to make you insane- I mean, on Denzel Crocker day?" Her hands grab his, not in some sudden display of romance but to chain him to the table. Tightly clenched about his, he can't possibly escape her now.

            In an hour, Crocker manages to tell her every tale of woe from that fateful day onward. As she was an outsider, it didn't seem nearly as bad from her viewpoint, but his method of telling it, so detachedly, makes her heart sink. Is this the reason behind his insanity? He wants to cut off his emotions?

            On impulse, Geraldine leans over the table and kisses him on the cheek. (After all that, one must be stolid to not respond). She wants him to feel better…

            Unfortunately, tables aren't really built for unexpected jumps by an person of tremendous obesity and she inadvertently knocks it over onto his lap and in turn his hands. So much for making him feel better, the table has an iron underside, translating into pain. Lots of it.

            "I'm so sorry!" She rushes to pick up the table but can't heft it and it falls on his foot. "Sorry! It must be all the bad luck since it's Friday the 13th."

            "Friday the 13th is when all the anti-fairies escape from Fairy World and cause trouble," Crocker informs her and punches himself on his right knee. He can't recall where he gleamed such information but a short, floating woman with pink hair flashes in front of his eyes. Bizarre.

            "Don't start, Crocker," she warns.

***

Author's Note: Wow, a really long chapter. But wait, it's not finished yet. Now we have a dilemma.

            Following this note are two different endings. I was split between the two and compromised by penning them both.

            The first ending, a happier one, immediately trails. However, the next chapter, not an epilogue but rather an angsty, more realistic second ending. My personal opinion is the angstier one is better, from a realistic standpoint, but you may pick and choose.

            Of course, I would prefer you read both and reviewed them. Feel free to tell which one was good and which one wasn't. I won't be hurt (at least I hope not).

***

            Standing on Crocker's doorstep, a pink streetlight shines upon them and there is an awkward silence. Presumably his mother went to bed early, lending them some alone time. Too bad they aren't sure what to do with it.

            "I had a decent time, all things considered." Geraldine says, and, then sensing his impatience, "You're not fired."

            Crocker leaps with glee and winces (he limped home, mostly leaning on her). "Yes! I live to hunt another day! I could kiss you!" He does, on the lips.

            A moment passes before either party realize neither has broken the lock yet. Fluttery feelings arise in his stomach and she feels a bit faint. In a nearby tree, a green squirrel tumbles to the ground out of shock.

            Geraldine breaks it first. In a flush, she mutters, "See you on Monday, Denzel," and darts off.

            Denzel puts his fingers to his lips and pushes the door open to the silence within.

            "Good night."

_Fin_


	10. Alternate Ending

Author's Note: Here's the angsty one. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: No, I don't own FOP and please stop asking!

           "You're fired!" The finality rings through the coffeehouse and Crocker's heart sinks to the floor. He's failed, he's lost, he's gone…

            Geraldine storms out but has one last word, "I want all the school's property returned by Monday or I'll have you arrested. I'm sending a claim for the wrecked car and trees." She slams the door.

            After a few minutes of waiting for her to rush in and declare this a practical joke, Crocker wizens up and exits into the rainy night. Rain splatters his tuxedo and soaks him to the bone but he experiences is 'you're fired'. Fired…fired…

            In a nearby window, a house close to Café Nervosa, a young, brown haired child plays with a group of plastic toys and lightens Crocker's heart. Where there are children, there are fairies, and where there are fairies, Crocker will go. So what if he's lost his job? There are others, in other cities. He never liked Dimmesdale much anyway.

            A new spring in his step, Crocker marches home.

***

            _"My preposition is to put tracking devices on every child so the magic works for us!"_

Geraldine sighs heavily. Memories of old times echo through her mind, driving her mad. Crocker was never hers and she knows why. If only the phantoms of the past would acquiesce.

            _"Well, I'll accept my generous government checks now!"_

_            You don't deserve any money, _Geraldine thinks. _Now, then, or in the future. Nobody considers fairy hunting a worthwhile prospect except the sanity impaired._

_            "I'm in love with a psychotic moron!"_

_            No longer_. Geraldine extracts from her wallet a picture and pinches in between her thumbs.

            Closing her eyes, she throws it into the green, metal trashcan. A weight lifted from her shoulders, she walks home. The deed is done.

            "Goodbye, Denzel Crocker."

_Fin_


End file.
